Unwittingly
by Ms Pimprenelle
Summary: During a visit of Lydia at Pemberley, a question from her nephews leads her to think about several occasions when a gift had been significant for her. A bit dark.


**Note:** what Lydia did is wong, very much so, and though I have a soft spot for the character (the fate Austen gave her always left me a bit sad), I don't want to leave anybody with the impression that I approve of what I have her do here. I welcome all comments and will be happy to answer your questions or remarks-providing you give me the means to do so.

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 **Pemberley, September 1825**

Lydia watched her nieces and nephews run in the field behind the great house. After George was gone, she had come to live with her eldest sisters, alternating between their homes and spending a great deal of time with their children, with whom she had become a favourite.

Her gaze rested on a girl of about eight years who reminded much of her younger self: stubborn, full of energy and of laugh. However, with a father who cared about all of his children and a mother who would not let her have her way, her niece was safe from growing up to be the silly and brash young woman she herself had been.

On noticing Lydia's attention, the little girl ran to her.

"Aunt, you are here! I thought you were going in Lambton today."

"I found what I wanted very quickly and came back as soon as I could," she answered with a smile.

"What did you buy?" asked another nephew—they had all abandoned their game on seeing their sister run.

"Did you buy us some presents?"

"Or sweets?"

At this she laughed and, opening her reticule, produced the small cakes she had bought in the village, to the delight of the little troop. It did not matter that the ones the estate cook made were likely better, these were out of the ordinary and came from Lydia, and therefore deemed superior by the children.

"You always make the best presents, Aunt," another niece said between two bites, to which her siblings nodded decidedly.

"What was the best present you ever received?"

Lydia laughed again. "Oh, I have said that about a lot of things throughout my life. As for the best present I ever received, I am afraid that I will not share that information. Now come, let us play!"

They were soon all playing again in the field.

 **Longbourn, 1807**

"This is the best present ever!"

"Lydia, you always say that. Can't you say something new?"

Lydia wasn't listening anymore, but then she rarely listened to Mary.

 **Netherfield, November 1811**

"You would let us name the date for your ball, Mr Bingley? This is the best present ever!"

 **Meryton, January 1812**

"Truly, you would give me that length of lace? Aunt Philips, this is the best present ever!"

 **Longbourn, May 1812**

"Brighton and a whole camp of soldiers? This is the best present ever! And it's not even my birthday!"

Lydia Bennet was ecstatic. She had been invited by her friend, the young wife of Colonel Forster, to spend some time with them at Brighton, where the Militia regiment commanded would remove for the summer. The disapprobation of three of her sisters, the jealousy of the fourth, the disparaging comments of her father or her mother's insistence in having her say in her preparations for the trip, nothing could dampen her joy. To Brighton she would go! And would it not be a great joke if she returned home with a husband?

 **On the road from Brighton to London, August 1812**

"Oh, George, this is the best present ever!"

A dreamy eyed Lydia looked at the man she had agreed to marry. The whole process was irregular, for he would not ask for her father's consent and would go to Scotland instead, but she _had_ wished to come back to her sisters married, and this was the best way to accomplish her goal. She did not look forward to the journey, though, and when her dear George had told her that they would have to stop in London for some days because he had some business to attend, she let out a squeal of delight. Jane and Lizzy had been in Town before, but she had never had that opportunity and very much looked forward to it.

 **Newcastle, June 1823**

It had been a long time since her husband had bought her a present, or even left her with enough money to pay for their basic expenses, let alone a trinket. She had resigned herself to ask her elder sisters for help, but she still had some pride and therefore did not say how much what they felt they could spare from their allowances was needed, speaking instead of dresses and ribbons, bonnets and shoe roses. She was being careful to spare as much she could, doing all her mending herself now, as well as most of the housekeeping and even some cooking. Her husband's expenses only grew, it seemed; gambling, drinking, and she did not want to know what else being the bulk of them. She was deeply unhappy, but saw no way to get out of the mess she had gotten herself into. If only she had followed her now brother's suggestion and gone back to her family when it was still time! At least there were no children to suffer from her folly.

A noise drew her out of her musings. The door had opened and closed, George's steps could be heard in their small apartment. Lydia frowned. It was an unusually early hour for him to be home. She hoped he would not be too drunk.

He entered the drawing room, a smile on the lips and a box in the hands. She relaxed.

"Ah, Mrs Wickham," he slurred. "I will not be long, but had to drop these marvels off."

Curiosity got the better of Lydia and, anyway, she had a better chance to obtain an answer if she asked him now, when he was somewhat tipsy, but not too much.

"What is inside, George?"

With a flourish, Wickham opened the box and showed her its content. On blue velvet laid a pair of duelling pistols. Lydia had never thought to call a weapon pretty, but this was the first word that came to her mind to describe what she saw.

"Where do they come from?"

"I won them this evening," he answered smugly. "They are the latest model of Manton's, and worth a pretty penny!"

"Do you intend to sell them?"

George merely shrugged. Meanwhile, Lydia had begun to think. Their lack of funds had made necessary for her to relinquish novels—along with every kind of books—and she had found she missed reading. Wickham brought from time to time a newspaper home, and she avidly read them from the first page to the last (improving her mind in the process, but this is not the object of this tale). Manton was not an unknown name to her. She had read about the manufacturer and thought about how dangerous such an object could be, and what precautions were needed to manipulate them if one did not want to get stupidly hurt.

She picked up one.

"Careful, woman, they're loaded! What do you think you are doing?"

"There is some trace of dirt just there, I will make it disappear in an instant," she answered calmly, taking the nearest cloth—a handkerchief she had been working on, for its edges were fraying too much.

A few heartbeats later, Lydia spoke to her immobile and silent husband, smiling sincerely at him for the first time in what felt an eternity.

"This may not have been intended for me, George, however I can safely say that this was the best. Present. Ever."


End file.
